is he your

mate? does he 
make your strings hum 

with the taste of summer bees? 

is he the wine that pours from

your lute ? is he the music

that comes from a place

where music is 

redundant? 

that 

makes a sound 

only Gods and devils 

can hear? is he the beginning 

and the end of the circle where time 

stands still who's voice is absolute law ? 

that brings up the joy in you like a

dormant plot awaiting the  

gardeners touch

where 

you play together 

like a same species ... where 

another might be just an understudy ... 

that you can feel under your skin 

a hundred miles away ... does 

he make your soul blossom 

like a orchid in a 

hothouse 

vibrating like a 

hummingbird greeting 

you at the dawn like a ripe 

honeydew who's words bubble 

up in you all night that you cannot 

sleep and have lost control of the wheel ... 

11.07am  19.07.12. 

nb this poem is worth about 9 million English pounds. It is also 
© Lizarikk ...


****************

nb this poem is worth 500 million. But does 

he know what priceless is worth ? 
**********

the Iraq of our streets 

gives him 
both empathy and 

tough his experience in the 

underworld killing fields of this land ... 

where beggars limp to offer a dying embrace, 

a last plea to the destroyed to create just

another minute. We understand

what you dad did to you but

please get a wash ... 

so where
is the King? could 
you do that to feel someone
that is drenched in stale piss and 
alcohol offering a reason to laugh again ... 


that has spent their life marinaded
in so much formalin ... 

12.26 pm  20.07.12. / 23.12. 
© Lizarikk